I come from a family of entertainers.
No, not true entertainers like circus people. Although, my dad has had his fair share of shining moments with his infatuation with tequila and the fact that he calls mejdool dates “sweet cockroaches”.
I have grown up surrounded by women who relish in the fine art of entertaining. My mom, aunts, and grandmothers want you to eat when they have you over. They don’t mess around. You will be bombarded by food upon entering my parents’ house. So when I go to a party or gathering, it’s now engrained within me to scan and judge hors d’ourves like it’s nobody’s business. And I’ve noticed that the usual suspects are always in attendance: pigs in a blanket, cheese plates, dips, chips, olives, crudites, etc.